Interim
by goldnox
Summary: Ssn 7 / Elena isn't waking up anytime soon, and Damon's world is crumbling in the interim. With Stefan on the run, Damon can't find a reason to hang around, waiting for Elena to wake up. Step 1: Clean up Mystic Falls. Step 2: Enroll in Advanced Time Passage via Coffin Sleeping. But when Bonnie interrupts his killing spree by delivering a present, Damon's plans get all but shredded.
1. Civic Duties

**A/N: Hi! *waves sheepishly* So...it's been a while. I've been busy doing the OF book thing and life things, but I promise, I have never truly left you guys and I have missed you all terribly. I'm still watching TVD every week, and loving Damon more than words can say. Right now, I'm in a time halt where I actually have the space in my to do list to write some fan fic before things hopefully get very crazy in the best way, and the show has given us one hell of a set up to play with possibilities. Mostly, with what prompts Damon to say so long to daily life and give up, in a sense, to the point that he gets in that coffin beside Elena we see in the flash forwards.**

 **So, The Plan: THIS IS NOT A ONE-SHOT. Yes, you read that right. I'm attempting a multi chapter fic, hoping to update about once a week. How long this story will be overall? No idea. The plan is really loose as of now, and depending on outside circumstances, and how long the muse holds out, but in the meantime, I'M BACK!**

 **A word about any errors or lack of meeting past high standards: THIS IS UNBETA'D. Mine and Trogdor19's friend-mance is strong as ever (she actually just stayed with me for a few days) but I NEVER get to surprise her with stories so I'm taking a leap. Also, if you think I'm busy, that girl is a tornado of to do lists. I may recruit her at some point, but for now, it's just me getting back into the rhythm of Mystic Falls and seeing if I can pull some strings. Connected directly to your feels, of course.**

 **Oh, and I'm rating M for gore, but not sex. With Elena in sleepy time, it also locks us firmly into Damon POV.**

 **Apart from that, I love you all and have missed you more, and I hope you enjoy!**

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CHAPTER 1: CIVIC DUTIES

I take another drink of bourbon, staring at my useless phone.

Nearly a grand worth of technological advances, and while it can translate my voice to text in any language I can think of, the piece of shit only lets me schedule an alarm one year in advance. One year. Not fifty or sixty or seventy or eighty, or however fucking long it's going to be until she's back.

My head falls back on the cushion of the chair, my eyes closing. My mind stumbles over memories: the perfect concoction of lace and skin, Bowie lyrics drifting by in the background. Her hips swirl to the beat, standing on the bed with the comforter a tangle licking up her ankles, and she's just started to tease me with the promise of losing the negligee when somewhere close by, a tongue clicks in disapproval.

"You smack your gum, too?" I ask. "Because that's not annoying or anything."

The person sitting by stays silent. It's not Stefan, who is still busy playing Gingerbread Man to Xena the Huntress. Definitely not Bonnie, who can't shut up, especially when her life depends on it. Not Matt, or Tyler, or Caroline—probably all guzzling Jell-O in the hospital since Blondie's fresh from being overstuffed with Ric's babies. It's only him, still here, playing Anti-Freud with my head.

Opening my eyes, I ignore the uniform I wore too long and take another drink. Aside from the lack of privacy, what really pisses me off is that his presence is a blaring reminder of Jeremy.

Dr. Phil would probably try to call it guilt if he ever got me on his garage-sale couch, but One: If we ever cross paths, I'm eating that pretentious balding bastard, and Two: I don't have any guilt over Jeremy. He doesn't want to take the time to call and check in? Fine. Then I don't have to spare the energy to worry. Kid should be able to take care of himself by now, and if he can't, serves him right. He should've listened when I spoke. Besides, it's not like his sister is going to wake up to his Facebook status being anything other than Dead in BFE America.

Could happen from old age. Could happen from his cocky attitude assuming his Call of Duty skills hold up against a pair of pointy teeth. It's going to happen one day, one way or another, and I'm over it. But Henry being a mooching bum in my living room is like an acid trip flashback of the little punk Jeremy was when ghosties were swarming around him, and he was happy to listen to their influence. Fuck that. I'm not some hormonal teenager who can't tell the difference between what's real and what's important.

I swirl the amber liquid in my glass, absolutely confident that what lies inside is smooth fire tinged with perfectly aged wood. Except...I couldn't tell the difference. The face to my right, smiling at me, was in that coffin. So I burned the fuck out of it. But then his face became hers, and I smelled her skin singeing into ash. I watched her lips crisp; her eyelashes vanish as though they never existed.

Bile rises in my mouth, and I throw back the rest of my drink. I'd rather see her staked, gray veins streaking over her skin. I'd rather see her with someone else, happy. I'd rather see her mouth agape with shock, as wide as the hole in her chest where her heart used to be, and have the image play on repeat for the rest of eternity. Anything other than seeing her burn. Especially when it comes to her lips.

I get up, walking over to refill my glass. The decanter clinks against the crystal, out of rhythm with the grandfather clock chiming away minutes that count for nothing.

"Drinking won't solve your problems, Damon," Henry tells me. "You have to face it."

"Shows what you know about drinking."

I pour more than I should, and then toast the stairwell before I throw back the bourbon in one gulp. No one needs me to be sober. I'm better with a buzz anyway, and I've got lots of shiny happy people to kill before I can cross that off my to do list and start on my nap. Not that I'm exactly looking forward to it. That shit hurts.

* * *

Blood squirts, coating my arm as I yank back my hand. My eyes are diamond black, reflected in the dying green of the douchebag in front of me. His heart beats three times in my palm as I smile. It thuds twice more, and then stops suddenly as his nameless body thumps to the ground.

The high of the kill rolls back my eyes in raw pleasure. It's as close as I can get to the sex I crave. The heady scent of death sweeps past my descended fangs, caressing my tongue and scorching my throat, and I'm hard as fuck and aching for my lips to sip at the slick heat between her legs.

The cotton of my shirt flirts with my skin when wind pushes against the leather of my jacket. Her hands, destroying it for keeping my skin from her. Something wet trickles down my forearm, and my chest heaves faster—seeing her head turned toward it as I drive mercilessly inside her, her tongue drawing up toward my wrist until she sinks her teeth into my vein to taste me.

A shiver rakes over my spine, my fingers tightening around the back of her thigh to draw her leg higher. Something bursts.

My eyes open to chunks of crimson sifting through my fingers, blood oozing and falling free. I tilt my head, raining the destroyed remnant of the heart I stole onto the corpse. But the blood is already starting to dry, and I shake my hand to dislodge the parts sticking to me.

"I may have ruined your day," I say to the body, "but you ruined my manicure. Not very friendly."

I smear the rest on his clothes, leaving only stained traces of pink and red on my palm. Not clean enough for what I'd like, but it doesn't really matter. By day's end, I'll be deliciously covered.

Down the street, the door of a house opens, voices overlapping. My head rises as I grin, counting three of them, and then I straighten. My shoulders are loose as I kick the body into the bushes, and they glance my direction at the sound. I hook my right hand into my back pocket as I stroll toward them, my steps a little staggered.

"Anyone know where to find a Chik-Fil-A around here?" I slur, my smile wobbly with the promise of one drink too many. "I got me a hankering for some bible thumpers."

The three of them look at one another, and then back at me as I stop in front of them.

"No problem, friend," the biggest one says. "I'll take you there myself."

I pat his shoulder. "See? Who says southern hospitality is dead?"

His eyebrow quirks, and my smile stretches to a hiss as my fingers clamp down on his clavicle. My left hand is inside his chest before his buddies can swing.

It doesn't take them long.

A blunt knee to my stomach retracts my arm. I double over, Biggun's heart slapping onto the pavement, followed by his body.

"Whoops," I cough out. "The HOA is gonna be pissed."

Two hands pin my arms behind my back, jerking me vertical.

"Get ready to die," a face dominated by a mole says to me, his arm rearing back for what looks like a punch that isn't aimed to land on my face.

"Hate to burst your bubble, but you're a little late to that party."

He snarls at me. I pucker a kiss, and then spit in his eye. Dumbass restraining me struggles to keep me pinned as Moley staggers back, catching my boot in his balls.

"Ouch," I say as he folds in half, primed for my knee to greet his nose with a cheerful, "Hello, I accept your invitation to shove the bone and cartilage into your brain."

At the impact, he sputters a sound that certifies his future diet as applesauce through a straw.

His ankle cracks and twists the wrong way under his weight, his body landing flat beside Biggun's with a hard thump.

"Jess!" the guy restraining me shouts. Moley's hand twitches, fingers spasming. Definitely gonna be sucking applesauce. Possibly through a feeding tube.

I sigh. "I just wanted a sandwich."

Two moves, and I break his hold and turn. The flat of my valentine palm shoves up against his chin. His jaw cracks together, teeth shattering and spurting out between his parted lips. His head jerks back from the impact, his weight tipping backward.

My fist catches the front of his shirt, holding him up. "And you had such a pretty smile."

He gurgles something that's all broken teeth and thick blood flooding his mouth.

"What's that?" I ask. "May not look it, but I'm getting a little old, so you'll have to speak up."

"Fuck...you..."

My brow furrows. "Is that any way to talk to a neighbor who only wanted directions?"

The fingertips of my right hand pierce the front of his throat, his eyes bulging wide.

"When I was a kid," I tell him, the guy clawing my wrist to release him, "my mother used to say if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." I shrug, feeling around in his throat for what I want. "She's dead now, because I let her die, which she deserved, but some things stay with you no matter who you kill."

He chokes on my fingers extending up toward the back of his mouth, and then I rip out his tongue through the hole above his Adam's apple. His hands fly to cover the wound as blood rushes from between his fingers, and I let go of his shirt, tossing the tongue away. His knees crack on the concrete, and I glance around.

The sky is blue, birds singing, and it's a great day for murder. Or a kite. But strings get tangled and that annoys the shit out of me, and murder I do well.

I look back to Toothless, and he's crawling past me toward Moley, still spastically twitching on the ground. I crouch down beside both of them, wiping the blood off my hands and onto Biggun's shirt.

"Here's the deal," I tell Toothless. "I don't see any need for you to die, now that you've learned some manners. Your buddy, however, is a lost cause."

Toothless leans over him, grabbing the front of his shirt and shaking him. Liters of blood pour from the hole in his throat and straight onto Moley's face, but his response is only an involuntary tic of his foot.

"Yeah," I drawl. "My best guess is that when he wakes up, he's only going to be interested in Sesame Street. So do your friend a favor and take out his heart, and I'll continue on my merry way."

Toothless collapses on his friend, and I roll my eyes. Getting up, I head over to the fence and rip off a stake, flipping it in my palm as I head back to the trio of useless dipshits. It only takes a nudge from the toe of my boot to roll Toothless off Moley, so all three are laid out on the sidewalk, side by side.

One bloody hand rises up toward me in a wordless plea, and I plunge the stake into Moley's chest. The muscle pops around the splintered edges of wood, and the body grays before I even take the stake back out. If only time would pass that fast.

Straightening, I scratch my nose on the sleeve of my jacket.

"Damn allergies," I say, even though I haven't had allergies in nearly 170 years. I almost miss them. I guess that's something I have to look forward to.

Toothless gurgles on the ground, and I twirl the stake in my hand.

"Any last words?" I ask, and the hand not clasped over his throat scrabbles for the end of my jacket. "Yeah, guess not."

The stake that spelled the end for his buddy happily matches one life status to another, and when his hand stops staining my jacket and falls away, I look at him.

Dead. Eyes open. Dark red blood contrasting with his gray skin.

I fix his hair, smoothing it down where my killing him caused it to stick up.

"Good as new," I tell his corpse, smiling.

Patting his chest, I straighten. Four down. At least a hundred to go. Then it's naptime. Time moves faster when you sleep.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and when I check, it's Bonnie.

"Civic Clean-Up Committee, at your service..."

"Whatever stupid thing you're doing?" she says. "Take a break and meet me back at the house."

"Aww," I drawl. "But I was having fun. And you may be the only friend I have left, but despite the evidence my phone log would shout from the hilltops, my world does not revolve around you."

"Yeah? Because the way I see it, as your only friend, you should listen when I tell you: meet me back at the house."

I scoff, heading down the street where my car is parked around the corner. "What's in it for me?"

"A present. And you'll either love it or hate it, but either way, you're taking it."

My eyebrow arches, and I take out my keys. "You officially have my attention, Bon Bon."

* * *

"Really, Damon?" Bonnie says as I walk in the front door. "Killing people? That's what you've been doing?"

I shrug, letting the front door fall shut behind me. "I only killed four of 'em. And someone's gotta clean up this town."

She crosses her arms, rampant with disapproval. Shocker.

"So where's my present?" I drawl, smiling.

She nods her head toward the dining room, and I rub my hands together in mock excitement as I pass her.

She lightly shoves at my shoulder. "Waste of space."

"Love you, too."

I stop short as I round the corner. There's nothing on the large wooden table but her cheap oversized purse. I groan, swiveling to level a look at her.

"JC Penny purses aren't my style. I prefer the classic elegance of Louis Vuitton."

"Look inside the bag, genius."

I grin. "If something in there bites me, I'll bite you back."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Heading back over to the table, my brow furrows at finding her purse zipped closed. "You been hanging with Lockwolf?" I ask. "You smell like dog."

Bonnie oddly keeps her trap shut as I pull open the zipper, and a head pops out. I lean back, staring at it while it stares right back at me. My eyes catalogue black fur, except for a streak of white traveling between its eyes and down around its mouth. The ears are half the size of its face, sticking straight up like it self-identifies as a rabbit, and the skull is small enough that I could easily crush it in my palm. Without warning, it licks its lips.

"Not that I have a problem with sticking to tradition," I say, "but I prefer my Chinese food a little more on the cooked end of the spectrum, and preferably beef or chicken."

The animal tilts its head at me.

"It's not dinner," Bonnie says, dipping her hands into the bag and lifting out the dog. She snuggles him into her chest, probably getting black hair all over her. Well, at least where it's not white—the latter color seems confined to its stomach, halfway up each leg, and a large band circling around the base of its neck and shoulders.

I arch my eyebrow. "Have you considered that being jealous of Blondie's mommy status is no reason to subject yourself to owning one of...those things?"

"One of those _things_?" she says. "It's called a dog, Damon, or if you want to be a picky about it, a Boston Terrier. Some people even get really crazy and call it a puppy."

"Call it a unicorn if it makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside, just do it out of my house."

She shakes her head. "Not on the list of options." She drops a kiss to the head, and then pushes the animal against my jacket and _lets go_. My reflexes snap around it before I remember it's a small hunk of meat with no brain or personality, and Bonnie smiles as it squirms against me.

Dammit, those little nails just scratched my jacket. And it fucking smells.

"Don't eat it," she says, "walk it, remember to feed it, and give it water. You'll have to buy a food bowl and a leash, and little doggie bags for poop, too. But since you're loaded and you like shopping almost more than Caroline, I don't want to hear any complaints."

I smile, even as I lean away from the creature against my chest, trying to lick my face. "It won't be alive long enough that I'll have to worry about doing any of that."

Bonnie narrows her eyes. "Live your life, that's what she said to do."

"And you translate that as taking care of a dog?"

"Yes, I do," she says, gathering up her purse and slinging it onto her shoulder. "You need something to live for other than bourbon."

Bonnie heads toward the front door, leaving behind the rat steadily wriggling in my arm.

"And what's wrong with killing people in the interim?" I call after her.

"Nothing," she says. "But now you have a friend to take with you when you do it. And give him a name."

The door shuts behind her, and I look down at the little beast stinking up my clothes. It has given up trying to taste my stubble, and instead licks steadily at a drop of blood smeared on my jacket from earlier. I push at its face to make it stop, and its slobbery tongue starts lapping at the space between my fingers.

"For fuck's sake," I groan, and then head outside to my car.

Bonnie's going to pay for this. Especially since instead of spending the rest of this beautiful day killing the leeches sucking the last bit of life out of my girl's hometown—before I happily crawl into a coffin next to her to wait out the years—I now get to haul my ass to the pet store twenty miles away. Probably all while this little meat bag chews my upholstery and pisses on the floorboard.

I open the driver's door of my Camaro and slide in, setting the thing down on the passenger seat.

"Move and you're dead," I tell it, and it tilts his head at me. I close my door and start the engine, and my eyes dare to the right. Elena always wore a seatbelt, even after she was rocking fangs with her Chucks, and my eyebrow arches.

Do you have to seatbelt dogs?

Rolling my eyes at myself, I pull out of the driveway. If it flies through the windshield and dies, it's fine by me. Just means I can get back to my pre-nap killing spree a little sooner.

The dog pants at me as I speed out of town, and then it puts its paw on the passenger door, stretching up to look out the rolled-down window. Its lips flap in the wind, and I look back to the road, my foot easing off the accelerator.

Some fucking friend Bonnie is.

* * *

 **A/N: Yep, we're gonna have some fun, and see if we can give Damon something to live for. Hope you all enjoyed, thank you for reading, and I will see you soon!**

 **-Goldnox**


	2. The Eighth Dimension

**A/N: Hi! First off, thank you all so much for all the love I gobbled up in your reviews on the last chapter! This fandom really is the best, and I'm so honored to not only be a part of it, but to have you guys welcome me back in such an amazing way.**

 **Keeping this short, all mistakes are mine - Trogdor19 is busy making the rest of us look bad by breaking every writing record on the planet. Seriously, she wrote an entire book in about the span of a week. How awesome is that?**

 **Without boring you by babbling about anything else... Enjoy!**

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CHAPTER 2: THE EIGHTH DIMENSION

"So I finally make out of the 90s prison world, and after I grab my hello hug from my brother, I'm ready to see my girl. I'm thinking maybe pick up some wine on the way, possibly some flowers, and then I get the news. Forget about scoring a Welcome Back from the Dead blow job, because I can't even get her to open the door. And once she did unlock the damn thing, she jumped out the window before I even got my foot over the threshold."

Paws patter and scrape on tile, putting him in the kitchen. I blur from the living room into the former office of Lockwolf's dead dad.

"The reason for my lack of a homecoming party?" I continue. "While I was flipping pancakes and waxing poetic about Elena to her bestie back in 1994, Elena was having Ric compel away all her memories of us." I lean back against the desk in the office, crossing my arms. "Every. Single. One," I tell the dog, who just jumped up on the couch in the living room, based on the scratch of nails against leather. Pushing off the desk, I head into the kitchen. "I got her back, though."

She never could resist me when we danced. Worked like a charm, too, 'cause she dumped that Express wearing douche, and even before she could remember where I took her on our first date, she knew where she wanted to be five years in the future. And it was a whole bunch of me and her playing house above a bar in New York like some punk rock fairytale.

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I pour a glass of bourbon, recalling the first time she kissed me after I was back. How that was the moment I was hit with the uppercut of a realization that when the girl you love only remembers how much she hates you, and then falls in love with you again anyway, the restart button she slammed doesn't only apply to her.

I take a quiet sip, leaning back against the kitchen island. All the new gets layered on top of everything that was already there, and I'm suddenly back in my own kitchen at the boarding house: Elena's eyelashes sweeping down as she moans around a bite of Bonnie's birthday cupcake. My fingertip daring out to wipe the chocolate frosting from Elena's lip, and then tasting the sweetness of sugar on her tongue as it slipped against mine...

"It was good for a minute," I say, swirling the amber liquid in my glass, "but because fate wants my balls at its mercy, I lost her. Again." I throw back the rest of the bourbon in my glass, although it sure as shit won't erase the acid reenacting Hurricane Katrina in my gut. "She took the cure, but before we could pack a single bag in order to bail from this town and start over as humans, picket fence and all, Kai—the sociopathic siphon I was telling you about—dropped Elena into a magic coma. Now, she won't wake up until Bonnie is being prepped for an autopsy." I set down the glass without making a sound. "And in some weird twist of guilt, Bon Bon thought me picking up your crap equated to a reason to keep living my life while I wait out the next seventy years."

The dog scampers into the kitchen, his tail wagging like crazy as he hops around in front of me.

"Personally, I would have preferred a big box of porn to keep me busy," I tell it. "Because you suck at tracking."

I break off a leftover piece of bacon from this morning, throwing it to the dog. After he swallows it without chewing, the animal whimpers for more.

"No, you jumped on the couch before you found me. Newsflash: I don't have the ability to be invisible. That particular gift belongs to witches, heretics, and dead siphons who turn my ass-kicking girlfriend into a helpless Disney princess."

He stretches up, his front paws on my shin as he whines, but his tail is still about to wag itself off. Groaning, I reach down and pick him up, and then set him on the counter.

"Only because you didn't stop to piss on the rug in the office."

He dives after another piece of bacon when I toss it down between his feet, and I snort as he does a somersault to go after it. When Elena told me about that loft in Tribeca, she never said whether there was a dog bowl somewhere in the corner. Bar, bed, rings, kids. Those she mentioned. Because those were non-negotiable. Probably because she knew what my reaction would be to owning a pet.

The dog looks up at me, tilting its head, and I push at its face. It's the same bullshit I get from everyone now. That silent pity, with more than a little disapproving judgment, because I know, I fucking _know_ , they're all waiting for me to snap.

Right on cue, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

"The thing about being on the run," I tell Stefan when I answer, "is that you can't call your big brother and ask him to Fed Ex your hair products. Dead giveaway of the location of your safe house."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"And taking note of the fact that your tone is suspiciously lacking any hints of imminent death, I'm guessing you've still managed to give Stabby the slip?"

The dog rolls on his back, panting at me. I shake my head, and then set him down on the floor. He's off like a shot. I don't even know if Elena likes dogs.

"Nice to know you're concerned about my well-being," Stefan says.

"More like maybe a little bit jealous that you get to snack on all the wholesomes at Disney World, and I'm stuck here guzzling juice boxes."

A tennis ball knocks me in the ankle, and when I glance down, the dog is flat on his stomach while nosing it back toward me, looking up with eyes practically the size of its paw.

"I don't care," I breathe.

Stefan clears his throat. "I'm not heading that far south."

"Ah-ha," I drawl. "Gonna pay a visit to your boyfriend? Bat your eyelashes, maybe give him a wink, and see if you can flirt your way into a favor?" I click my tongue in disapproval, the dog taking that as some kind of signal to see if he can stick his head inside the bottom hem of my jeans. I shake him off. "Have to say, Stef, I'm a little disappointed in your taste of men."

"He can help. More than I can say for you."

"I help you out all the time." The beast barks at me, and I pick it up by the scruff, setting it back down on the counter. "Besides, what's the point of being burdened with a brother throughout eternity if he doesn't let you down? Your hero hair would never get the chance to spring into teased action."

The dog runs over to the far edge of the counter, and I throw my hand out. It barks at a cabinet on the other side of a four-foot jump.

"You at a dog show or something?" Stefan asks.

"More like dealing with Witchy's idea of a cruel joke."

"Bonnie gave you a dog?" Stefan says. "And she's still alive?"

I roll my eyes. "She interrupted my afternoon Mystic Falls Clean Up campaign with the promise of a goodie bag. So I come home to her shoving the mangy thing at me, she rattles off a list of instructions that specifically excluded punting it, and then she walked out. So if I'm lucky, it'll get eaten by a wolf." I shrug. "Basically, it's like having a smaller version of you around."

"Sure, Damon," Stefan says. "And let me guess: you named it Brunch."

"I'm not Blondie. I don't name shit." The dog barks again, and my brow furrows. "What the hell do you want?"

Bark.

"Right," Stefan drawls. "I must have confused you with my other brother, the one who is a glutton for giving people nicknames."

"As long as he's not better looking than me." I smirk, setting down a bowl of water on the counter. The dog wrinkles his nose but doesn't go near it. Another bark. "Dammit," I mumble, going over the cabinets and trying to remember which one I stuffed the dog food into, because more than being gross, it's fucking embarrassing.

Stefan snorts. "Damon Salvatore: Dog Whisperer. What I wouldn't give to see this in person."

"Yeah, we're all having a big laugh."

I finally find the food behind the canned spinach and lima beans. No one eats that shit, equaling no one finding what was behind it.

Set the food down on the floor. Put the dog on the floor. He attacks. Kibble, paper, him, all skittering across the tile as he growls and shreds the bag with his teeth, and then chases after the bites of food on their path of escape.

I snort. "Swear to God, the thing is brain damaged."

"Male or female?" Stefan asks.

"Who can tell with you these days? The hair style was always making your sexuality questionable, and when you factor in your wardrobe choices..."

Stefan sighs. "The dog, Damon."

"According to Bonnie, but based on its lack of balls making it seem questionable, it's apparently a male."

"Butch, Fido, Cujo, Rocky..." Stefan rattles off.

Rolling my eyes, I crouch down, gathering up the mess and putting it back into the food bag. "I'm not naming the dog."

"What's wrong, brother? Worried you'll start to care about it?"

As though he can understand what Stefan is saying, the annoyance in question bounds over and licks at my face. I shove him off, gathering the last of the kibble. "Isn't it bad enough I'm already living in the eighth dimension of reality where Elena is playing Sleepy Beauty, Bonnie is now my frenemy, Care Bear is Ric's Baby Mama, and I own a damn dog? Especially one who thinks it's not dangerous to provoke a predator who could crush his body like a paper bag."

"Buckaroo."

My brow furrows as I stand, dropping the bag of food onto the counter. "What did I tell you about trying to guess my safe word? A: It's disturbing. B: I don't have one."

"Name the dog Buckaroo," he says. "Because we are living in the eighth dimension if you're going to be spending your days playing fetch and hanging out at the dog park."

I groan, refilling my glass with more bourbon. "Word of advice? I wouldn't boast about your abhorrent taste in 80s movies*. Especially that one."

"Aw, come on, brother, you can't still be mad that Peter Weller dumped you to go be RoboCop in 87."

My eyes narrow as I set the bottle back on the counter—harsh enough that small teeth tug at the back of my jeans. "No one fucking dumps me, Stefan. Except for Elena. And why are you so cheerful? Considering your girl is busy changing diapers instead of dancing on your lap, I figured you'd be tilting a little more into the mopey spectrum of your personality disorder."

Stefan clears his throat. "How's Mystic Falls?"

I take a drink. "Still boasting a fang count of about a hundred too many."

"You planning on doing something about that?"

"Ask the four guys I erased from the population count yesterday morning. Unfortunately, I'm also a little busy with figuring out how to murder the evil bitch who drove my brother out of town. 'Cause rumor has it he thinks he's got a plan, but usually that just spells a couple of extra bodies in the ground and me doing all the digging."

"It'll work," Stefan tells me. "Just give me a chance to talk to him."

"I don't need your plan to work. I need your plan checked off as complete so you can get back here and help me de-vampire our town. Myself excluded."

Stefan scoffs. "Sorry my being hunted is inconveniencing you, brother. Especially considering it's your fault."

Can't really argue with that. So I hang up on Stefan.

Turning around, I take another drink from my glass. The dog tilts his head at me, wagging his tail, and I scowl.

"I can't trust you to stay here and not chew everything, and I can't take you vampire hunting until you figure out how to track. So this is your last chance, or the next time Party Planner Barbie throws a soiree, you're getting served on a silver platter with crème fraiche."

The dog barks, and after I finish off the last of my glass, I blur out of the kitchen.

* * *

Something soft nuzzles my cheek, and I smile, my head sinking deeper into the pillow.

"Hate to break it to you, Elena," I mumble, "but on the list of Best Ways To Wake Up A Man, you're landing around number six."

She chuckles, pressing another kiss to my cheek. Something in my stomach loosens as I drown in the comfort of having her beside me, her hand moving from the curve of my bicep to the center of my chest.

"Getting warmer," I breathe. Her nails dig into my skin. I hiss, the sound quickly melting into a chuckle. "Getting hot now..."

She nips at my chin, a moan rumbling from deep in my chest and vibrating all the way up into my throat, my arm curling back to tangle in her rich brown hair. My fingers search and come up empty, breaking away the last whispers of unconsciousness.

My eyes open, finding a small black and white creature standing on my chest, his face close enough that he doesn't even have to lunge when he nips at my face again.

"What the fuck?" I burst out, pushing him off me. The dog rolls onto the empty half of the bed, landing on his back. He's on his feet in a wiggled blur, stomping back toward me through the sheets and comforter.

I stare at it. I distinctly remember putting it in a shoebox before I went to sleep. The dog barks.

"You want a keeper? Go back to Bonnie's purse," I tell it, rolling over and hugging my arms around the pillow.

Like I've done every morning since the wedding, I blank my mind of the problems to solve and the list of people to kill, focusing instead on Elena. How warm her skin is in the morning, and how years of her trying to beat tardy bells have hardwired her to wake up long before I ever want to.

Something chews at the sheet near my ankle, and I kick at it. Usually, she starts with a touch. Her fingers drawing through the back of my hair before smoothing down my back or my chest, whatever side of me she happens to find. A dropped kiss to my arm or shoulder after she scoots closer, her leg winding over me in a claim I'm ready to make every kind of permanent.

Melting more into the memory, the ache in my chest and bitterness in my stomach is soothed by the curve of her breasts pressing against my side, the softness of her hips, and how crazy silky her inner thighs are. There's a tug at the back of my hair, a scrape to my scalp. But I'm not drunk or tired enough to trick myself into thinking it's Elena anymore, and I bat at the dog biting at my hair.

It barks again, scrambling to stand on my back. Reaching behind me, I grab it by its scruff and hold it out over the side of the bed. It squirms, and I glare at it. "Nouns that fuck with my morning fantasy hour are quick to get put in the blender."

I drop it onto the floor, its paws scraping over the hardwood as it runs around. My arm falls limply off the bed, my eyes closing once more.

Elena.

Naked.

In bed, beside me.

In the loft of the barn, her newly-human heart beating wildly beneath me as I kiss her deeper.

A bark makes my eyebrow twitch, followed by a nip at my fingertips. Slamming my hand down on the bed, I throw back the covers, the dog hopping around and darting between my feet as I head to the closet. It attacks a box on the floor, chewing on the corner as I get dressed.

"Fond of ingesting lead paint, too?" I pull it away from the cardboard box of Elena's school stuff. The second it goes after her clothes—still hanging up because I haven't gotten around to boxing them up yet—its lifespan is getting diced into pieces.

Still, I tuck its body, wagging tail included, under my arm. All the way downstairs, it sniffs at my clothes, and I lean back away from it. The feeling is not mutual, in any way.

"Here," I tell the dog, setting it down on the floor of the kitchen.

Grab one of the two bowls I bought at the pet store, fill with water, and before the plastic even touches tile, the little asshole dives for it—his head dunking into the bowl as his paws hit the edge, sending water all over the floor. Not to mention sopping its blue collar where the polka dot bow tie sits under its neck.

What the hell do I care what it wears? Besides, that collar was the one closest to my hand while I was knocking shit off the shelf, letting it bounce off the head of the dog and land beside it in the basket as I made my way quickly through the aisles.

"Idiot," I tell it, dropping down a dishtowel and cleaning up the mess. Something completely pointless, because as soon as I pour food into the second bowl, the dog jumps in with all four feet, trying to eat the kibble it's busy tromping on.

Sighing, I pick him up and set him down outside the bowl, pushing at its front legs when he tries to step back into the food. The beast wiggles against me, scarfing down food like it's starving.

"Figures Bonnie would find the Ripper version of a canine and pawn it off on me."

My hand on his chest keeps the rest of his body out of the bowl, but his teeth are chomping in a way that reminds me too much of Stefan on a bender.

I push back the dog and take away the bowl, setting it on the counter. He barks.

"Moderation," I say, and he goes after the hem of my jeans. Its teeth snap at denim, paws locking around my ankle as his whole little black and white body tussles with my foot. "You seriously think you're going to win?" I shake him off, but he comes right back, attacking me once more. Crouching down, I pin him on his back, my palm covering its entire chest and stomach. I let blood paint my eyes, my teeth descending. The dog stares at me, completely frozen. "Scared? 'Cause you fucking should be."

He sneezes and I jerk my hand back, wiping snot off on my jeans.

"Disgusting."

His nails scrape over the floor as it runs after me, and it bounds outside as soon as I crack the back door. My eyes drop to my hand, still on the doorknob, and my muscles twang eagerly to give the one tiny push that'll permanently shut the rat outside. Not my fault if he runs away.

Heading back to the kitchen, I grab a blood bag from the freezer and pour it into a mug. Couple of mindless pressing of buttons on the microwave later, I take out my phone.

 _ **Want to join me for breakfast?**_ I text Bonnie. _**Pancakes are off the menu, but I hear dogs taste just like chicken.**_

A yelp outside pulls my gaze toward the window, and when I check, the rat is tangling with a rose bush. My brow furrows as he licks at his paw, straightens, and then growls and plunges back toward the rose bush, tearing off petals with abandon.

 _ **I said feed him. Not for him to feed you. And give him a name.**_

I roll my eyes at Bonnie's text, grabbing my mug of blood from the microwave. The heat scorches my tongue and sharpens every instinct I have to kill, torture, and maim, and I head to the living room, collapsing into a chair.

Taking another deep pull, my eyes dart to the stack of books sitting out, but Rayna Cruz is on the move. Mystic Falls is a cesspool. And both problems need to be solved before Bonnie trips over a banana peel and lands on an ax, bursting Elena's dream bubble.

Without warning, the dog hops up into my lap, and I push him off. But it's obviously stupid beyond even Matt and Tyler levels, because it jumps right back up, lying down on my leg. It licks at its paw, the sound grating on every one of my frayed nerves as I finish off my breakfast.

"In the future, go for the daisies." I pull the paw out of reach from its tongue, checking out the problem. I may not be able to do anything about my lack of hearing Elena's voice anytime in the next half-century, but I can deal with a thorn.

The dog whimpers when I yank out the evidence of his dipshitness, but then he goes right back to licking his paw. My sight catalogues a blot of blood creeping into his white fur, and I nip my fingertip, holding it out to him. He goes straight for it, his gash fully closed by the time I wipe his slobber off my hand and onto my jeans. If only everything else were that simple.

I need a way to take out Rayna and Julian's gang at the same time, with minimal-to-no casualties. If Elena wakes up to a smaller friend roster than she went to sleep with, I'm going to hear about it, big time.

Tilting my head, I watch the dog already romping through dreamland on my lap. His leg kicks as he growls in his sleep, and curiosity, or maybe just procrastination, prompts me to dip into its mind.

It's a soft blur of sensations instead of images; smells tugging at instincts to destroy or maybe just claim as my territory. Mostly, it's just testing its strength with a playfulness that reminds me of newbie vampires. I reel my mind back into my own, my fingers scratching him behind the ears.

He doesn't have memories. Maybe he will, but he's too young. Or maybe dogs don't work the same way. The dog kicks again in its sleep, waking himself up. He stands, circles, and lies down on my lap once more. I flip his ear—fucker should've let me sleep in. He huffs, but doesn't move, and I turn his ear back the right way, rubbing the soft fur and absorbing the fragile strength of the muscles beneath it.

The entire time Bonnie and I were doing crosswords in the prison world, all I could think about was Elena. Seeing her again, breathing her in before I ever opened my eyes in the morning. So it shouldn't have been a surprise that my Grinch heart came out more in love with her than I was even before I drove us, and my Camaro, to our collective deaths. It's also not like it was ever a big secret that I don't want to breathe anything but her, but now…

It's different when you're the lucky bastard that got two first nights with her. Two first morning afters. Two first _everythings_. And one plus one does not equal fucking zero.

My fingers go still against the dog.

I grab my phone.

"Don't tell me," Stefan says when he answers, "the dog mysteriously ended up skewered in the fireplace."

"Not yet. But tell your boyfriend that I got me a baby-less Blondie in dire need of a distraction, and if he's willing to collect in person, I'll throw him a party. One we need him not to miss."

"I'm not using her as bait, Damon."

"It's not bait." I lightly flick at the dog's ear, and he raises his head to look at me. When I jerk my chin toward the floor, he jumps down, and I head to my room. "It's just a little bit of temptation to get him to Mystic Falls."

Stefan goes quiet.

Straightening from pulling on my boots, I grab my jacket and my keys. "Better a douche bird in the hand, than two douche birds in the bush, Stef."

He sighs. "I'll take care of it."

Dropping my phone back into my pocket, the house is silent on my walk toward the front door.

"Banzai," I call out. "Time to earn your keep."

Silence.

I whistle. "Banzai, let's go. I got a list of vampire squatters to eradicate, and you're killing my time table."

Still nothing.

Fuck, the back door is open.

"You have two seconds to reveal yourself or you're getting mailed to Stefan, who happens to be particularly fond of picking fur out of his teeth."

I head into the living room, but no black and white rat. Check outside, and the back yard is clear. Shut the back door, head into my room.

"What the fuck?" I yell. "You just went out!"

The dog buries his head farther underneath my pillow, which doesn't hide him for shit. His hind legs are stretching out behind him as he squirms closer to the headboard, and his tail is pointing right at the puddle of piss on my comforter.

I take out my phone, texting Bonnie.

 _ **You owe me a new bed set.**_

* * *

* _The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension - an absolutely ridiculous 80s cult classic where Peter Weller is an adventurer/surgeon/rock musician, and decides to take on evil alien invaders (The Red Lectroids from Planet 10) who have arrived to steal Buckaroo Banzai's perfected version of the oscillation overthruster—a device that allows him to travel through solid matter by using the eighth dimension. Oh yeah. We're talking Oscar GOLD. Take note: Buckaroo Banzai's absurd resume and team of helpers (The Hong Kong Cavaliers) are only outmatched by the most god-awful special effects and plot line of the century. If you have the chance to watch it, DON'T, unless you want to be dumber. But if you're not worried about your IQ and want to laugh your ass off at how bad some movies can be, then by all means, enjoy. I did_ :)

* * *

 **A/N: A plea: NO SPOILERS FOR THE LAST TWO EPISODES OF TVD IN REVIEWS PLEASE! I haven't yet watched the crossover episode, or the one after it, because life = not bowing to my TVD watching needs. CRUELNESS! ADULTING SUCKS! REVIEWS HELP! ;) Hope you guys enjoyed, I can't wait to hear your responses, and I'll see you next week with the next chapter! In the meantime, you're always welcome to check me out on twitter ( AT goldnox ) where I may be posting snippets of Damon + Dog life from Banzai's POV :) Happy reading!**

 **-Goldnox**


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